


Hearts Not Beating

by blacktofade



Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Vampires, plot what plot?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:11:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blacktofade/pseuds/blacktofade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Maggiemahoney @ Livejournal. Finas and Casimiro go to the opera and bond over dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hearts Not Beating

“I don’t know why we don’t go to the opera more often. I do so love getting dinner and a show; puts fire in my veins.”

Casimiro links his arm with Finas’ own, crowding closer, cool fingers sliding under the cuff of his coat, gently touching Finas’ wrist.

“I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been distracted,” Finas replies easily, keeping his head tipped down, hiding his face in shadows while they pass another couple walking the opposite direction. Casimiro laughs, tightening his grip on Finas’ arm, their footsteps falling into rhythm together.

“I will not apologise for your inability to ignore me.”

Finas shoots Casimiro a sideways glance, watching the grin that spreads across his face, the humour in anticipation.

“I find it unfair that I was given no choice. No one in their right mind could ignore your wandering hands.”

“You could have broken my fingers.”

“I’d never hear the end of it, though it seems either way I won’t.”

They take the next right turn, finally leaving the sound of horse-hooves and squeaky carriage wheels behind, the inky darkness of night rolling over them until the flickering lantern above the door of their flat covers them in a faint orange glow. Finas slips the keys from his pocket, unlocking the door before Casimiro can complain that he’s taking too long, and knows to hold back just a second as Casimiro pushes past him into the foyer. He locks it once more behind them and hangs the keys on their usual hook by the coat rack, finding Casimiro already shrugging his outerwear off and leaving it all in a pile on the wooden floor.

Finas opens his mouth to argue, but can’t remember the number of times they’ve already had such a discussion; Casimiro never listens, too young and foolhardy for the words to sink in. He scoops it all up, hanging it neatly alongside his own jacket and scarf, while the stairs creak, signalling Casimiro’s ascent to the second floor.

“Should I signal for Mrs. Jenkins to bring up tea?” he shouts up after him, finally lighting a lamp.

“Not tonight,” comes Casimiro’s muffled response and Finas shrugs to himself before heading up the stairs.

He finds Casimiro in the front room, sprawled out across half the settee before a well-tended-to fire; it must have been the maid who put the last logs on it, because Finas knows for a fact that Casimiro hates getting his hands dirty with manual labour.

“Dinner could have been a little more appetising.” Casimiro rubs a hand across his chest and shifts. “I think it gave me indigestion. Where did you find the lad, anyway?”

Finas slides onto the cushion beside him and slings an arm over the backrest, fingers barely brushing the hair at the nape of his neck; Casimiro leans into the touch, head falling back to rest in Finas’ palm.

“Just a lowlife with no one to miss him; a runaway, I should think, though who knows for sure these days. One street urchin looks the same as the next.”

“Mmm,” he agrees with a quick nod. “Well, they always taste bitter. How I long for an overfed, over-boozed Aristocrat. Their sugary blood is a favourite of mine.”

“The richness will rot your teeth.”

Finas watches as a slow smirk spreads across Casimiro’s face and lets their knees knock together. The silence that falls between them is anything but uncomfortable, the fire crackling gently, while Casimiro kicks off his shoes, turns sideways, and slides his feet into Finas’ lap. Finas absentmindedly rubs them, thumbs digging into the soft arches, drawing pleased sounds from their owner.

“C’mere,” Casimiro orders quietly, nudging his toes into Finas’ sides to encourage him forward, but Finas leaves him waiting, raising one brow in reply. “Are you angry with me?”

“Why, should I be?”

“No, so come here. I believe my fingers have promises to keep.”

Finas still doesn’t move, far too at ease and warm to do anything more than test Casimiro’s patience. Casimiro stretches and Finas knows he digs his heels sharply into his ribs on purpose, but doesn’t make a noise, watching as Casimiro eventually sits up with a groan and slides easily into his lap.

“What’s wrong, old man?”

“Nothing,” he replies smoothly, slipping his hands into the curves behind Casimiro’s knees. “I’m just comfortable where I am.”

“Lazy bastard,” Casimiro complains without bite, fingers twisting into Finas’ necktie. “The cravat suits you; you could be the next Mr. Darcy. It’s much better than the wigs you wore last century.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Casimiro laughs and slides his hands higher, cupping Finas’ face firmly as he drags his nails through his facial hair, the rasp loud in the quiet room. A thumb teases along his bottom lip, pressing gently against the soft flesh before Casimiro traces the path with his mouth instead. Finas lets his head tip back, Casimiro’s lips surprisingly warm against his own, and he knows the effects of dinner still linger within them, giving life where there is usually none.

“I don’t think we have long,” Casimiro murmurs between them, never breaking the kiss as he slides his fingers into Finas’ hair and clutches tightly. Finas’ hands move, pushing up under the hem of both Casimiro’s evening jacket and shirt, rucking them up in order to feel smooth, cool skin underneath. Casimiro’s stomach jumps under the touch, his mouth opening as he breathes satisfaction between Finas’ lips. “It’s been far too long since I last felt alive.”

Finas shuts his eyes, holding Casimiro tighter because he doesn’t have the words to say he agrees. He nips at Casimiro’s bottom lip, tugging just hard enough to draw a quiet noise from him and slips his fingertips beneath the waistband of his trousers. Casimiro rolls against him, mouth moving to his jaw, as Finas shifts and begins unfastening Casimiro’s belt, fingers pressing and touching just enough to earn teasing bites down under his chin.

Casimiro pulls at Finas’ cravat, slipping it from around his neck, allowing his collar to fall open and expose his throat, as his mouth trails lower, only stopping when it reaches the two faint puncture marks that have never healed. They twinge as Casimiro traces his tongue over them, probing gently until Finas lifts a hand to cup the back of his head, pulling him forward, pressing him harder against the marks. There’s a sharp sting of teeth and Finas knows Casimiro’s fangs have lowered, pricking the unblemished skin around his wound. He waits, knowing it’s coming as Casimiro’s teeth fit crudely into the holes, pressing down and Finas can’t help but rut upwards, pleasure tingling down his spine in quick flashes, overlapping until it never seems to stop.

Finas finally slips his hand into Casimiro’s unfastened trousers, fingers wriggling under his smalls, firmly grasping his cock, which twitches against the touch as Casimiro bites down on his neck, sending a devastatingly hard punch of pleasure straight between Finas’ legs. Casimiro bucks forward, forcing the soft underside of Finas’ wrist against the bulge in his own trousers and Finas rubs his thumb over the soft crown of Casimiro’s cock before letting go and allowing them to rub together through their clothes as Casimiro pushes against him once more.

“Hurry up,” Casimiro pants against his throat, worrying at the bite marks once more, while Finas unbuttons his own fly and roughly pulls himself out, letting the tight stretch of his underwear pin his cock against his stomach and the tails of his shirt. Casimiro arches his back, staring down between their bodies at the sight before catching Finas’ gaze. Finas knows there are a million and one quips behind his teeth as he grins, most of them probably about his age, but he doesn’t care because he’s heard it all before, heard it all for centuries, and they aren’t getting any younger – or older for that matter – so instead of letting Casimiro say a word, he tugs him back down to his mouth and silences him with his tongue.

Casimiro’s hips move in a rush of pressure, pushing Finas before he’s even ready to fall; he grips Casimiro’s hip in a tight hold and slows him, letting the pace turn lazy and unhurried, even as Casimiro shoves at his own clothing until there’s nothing but the feel of skin on skin. He has to remind Casimiro that they have eternity ahead, that there’s no need to hurry. He’s young, much younger than Finas was when he was turned, and he doesn’t quite think the boy understands how long forever actually is; he doesn’t himself, but he does know that he has the time to slow down and enjoy the little moments.

“C’mon, Fin,” Casimiro complains, spreading his knees and rutting forwards for more. “We haven’t got forever.”

Finas hides his smile against the corner of Casimiro’s mouth and moves his hips softly, giving Casimiro only the barest of touches.

“What’s the rush?” he asks, voice muffled by skin.

“I’m going cold,” Casimiro argues, bringing a hand up to Finas’ cheek to let him feel; it’s true, the tips of Casimiro’s fingers have turned icy already.

Finas hums thoughtfully against Casimiro’s mouth, but doesn’t stop kissing him, not even when he hooks his hands under Casimiro’s thighs and lifts, shifting them forwards until he can lower them to the floor in front of the fireplace. Casimiro lets out a faint noise of surprise, but it sounds pleased, as though he’s finally got what he’s been wanting the entire time. With Casimiro pinned between the floor and Finas’ own body, it’s easy to grind down, pleasure winding around them, tying them together tightly. Casimiro's hands fall to the floor, fingers grappling at the rug beneath them.

“That’s it,” Casimiro murmurs, eyes falling shut, a broad smile stretching across his face.

It’s not perfect, but Finas is all right with that. He wants Casimiro dirtied and bruised and any way he can have him because that’s the way he is, the way Finas will never be. They’re two sides of the same coin, and as Casimiro grunts and curses loudly, arching up against him, Finas’ breath stutters, lips tracing along Casimiro’s cheek as he whispers praise and quiet affection.

Casimiro falls first, legs lifting and squeezing around Finas’ hips as he rides out the pleasure, Finas’ name sliding off his tongue as though it’s the only word he remembers. Finas pushes him through it, mouth soft and gentle, until Casimiro responds with tired kisses, lips turning colder by the second. It’s with Casimiro watching him, eyes witnessing the final snap of his resolve, that he follows after, pressing down and hiding his face in the crook of Casimiro’s neck as he shakes and gasps until it feels as though he’s breaking apart.

Casimiro’s palm is soothing as it slides up and down his back, fingers pressing into the spaces of his spine and rubbing gently. Finas tries to pull away, to sit back on his heels and stop crushing Casimiro with his weight, but he can’t move as arms wind around his sides and hold him still.

“It’s not like you’ll kill me,” Casimiro jokes, pressing a kiss to the harsh line of Finas’ jaw. “Just enjoy the last few moments of dinner.”

Finas doesn’t often agree with Casimiro’s plans – mostly because a lot of them involve disaster and at least one person dying – but this one he can get behind, because the warmth in his veins is burning low and the sound of their hearts not beating is louder than the sliding of Casimiro’s skin against his shirt.

He presses his nose into the soft flesh below Casimiro’s ear and says nothing.


End file.
